Quack Quack Mother Effer

I have been honest and stated that most heavy hitting life altering decisions I have been successful in making have been "spur of the moment" decisions. Like, you know, getting married. Choosing a career. Having kids. Or at least deciding to have kids numbers one and two. Deciding what to wear. Banal shit like that.

Two weeks ago I had a totally life altering moment. And I haven't had time to blog about it yet, because I haven't had time to get intoxicated enough to blog about it yet. But Lo! Tis Saturday. And I'm pretty intoxicated. And I need to write. So I shall blog about my "moment".

Let me set the scene: I am on the floor. Playing. Not very descriptive, but this is my job. I sit. On the floor. And I play. I LOVE my job. I LOVE it. Who (or is it Whom? Who the hell cares) else do you know gets to sit on the floor with darling little babies and play and get paid? I LOVE being a developmental therapist. Love it. Anyway...

I am on the floor playing with my duck pop beads. Just moving them around, trying to get my little playmate to "quack quack quack quack" along with me. It's not working. I am not inspiring anyone to effen quack. At all. Ever.

I look despairingly to my very close friend, and professional guru "Jenny the OT" and say "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this."

Of course she thinks I mean short term and takes over quacking and integrating sensory processing along with core work and all this very wonderful and smart people work. But she doesn't realize I. Am. Serious.

I'm in my prime people! How much longer can I sit on someone else's floor "quacking" like a moron? 90% of my professional skill set is based on how moronic I can be....the rest is divided between talent and knowledge, but let's face it. I am a 35 year old moron quacking and hoping that some kid and my favorite co-treat colleague will quack with me too.

It's depressing.

And let's face it and say I am "probably" premenstrual or premenopausal when I say I have nothing to offer the "real world" in terms of job getting skills and so I sit. Quacking. Quacking and mildly hormonally depressed. My phone doesn't send pictures much less have Internet access. My "work" computer is something my father in law built for gaming...John won't "let" me get a laptop (which I have been desperately begging for) because I'm not doing rocket science. I don't like MATH. I have no interest in the "business world.". In short, I have nothing to offer of real financial value. So I keep quacking.

Me: "Jenny...when I am 45...10 years from now...I CAN'T be doing this!"

Jenny: "Doing what?"

Me: "Quack quack quack quack quack....at least you have a real skill set. You could do Early Intervention...which is what you're doing. You could work in a nursing home. Or in adult rehab. Saying "I'm an Occupational Therapist is respectable". Being a DT? Not so much...even if knowing what I do is important. Quack".

Jenny: (quietly...as an aside) : quack quack mother effer.

Actually. I made that last part up. She doesn't drop the "F bomb." But that's what the look on her face said.

So what now? I NEED to keep writing. Editing my children's book. Journaling my whack a doodle life experiences. Blogging the funny but true shit. Maybe...maybe....maybe...pursuing an associates degree in the local college's Occupational Therapy Assistant programs. All is need is to be admitted. And someone to be my supervisor. And wouldn't you know that I know plenty of OT's that want to be the effen boss of me.

I don't know. All I know is that when I am 45....50...or in the range of "being a grown up" I will probably be in a loony bin if I am sitting on the floor quacking.

That's all I'm sayin'.